


Play Pretend

by The_Wonderful_Jinx



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Emotional, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, Pining Strand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5271332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wonderful_Jinx/pseuds/The_Wonderful_Jinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fantasy and daydreams are always so much better than reality. And no one -not even Dr. Strand- is immune to their charms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play Pretend

The grandfather clock in the foyer of Dr. Strand’s home chimed nine times and the party goers began filing out. Most of them were sober, only a handful showed signs of tipsiness (he made sure they had a designated driver). Part of Strand was thankful that the party was over and that he could enjoy the rest of the night in peaceful silence without disturbance. He didn’t hate these annual parties that he would throw, he enjoyed them. He got to see colleagues, co-workers, and the few friends he had -who actually liked him and his work- that he wasn’t able to meet on a daily schedule. Like everyone else, however, he too had a limit on his large scale interaction quota, and he was more than happy to lead his guests out the door, making promises to see them next year, and to keep in touch. The other part of Strand, however, was dreading the end, for that meant  _she_  would be leaving too.

The “she” in question was Alex Reagan, who was chatting with Melissa by the fireplace, still nursing her only drink of the night, the red wine he saved just for the party. She looked warm and happy, the waning fires brought out the small gold threads weaved into her dress, giving the illusion that she was glimmering. Melissa glanced at him, Alex did the same. They waved and went right back into their discussion.

Alex was late to the party by half an hour, and the invitation said dinner would be served at six sharp. Stragglers would be turned away, a threat he carried out (and was witnessed by) numerous times. But this year he stalled. He stalled just for her until his guests started grumbling and complaining. And at six thirty -just when he was losing hope and about to make the toast- she rushed into the dining room, a hurricane dressed in a light cream dress with intricate lacework and gold thread, black high heels, tousled brown hair, and nervous eyes. He rushed to her side without a second thought and lead her in, his hand at the small of her back. She apologized profusely on their way, her GPS lost the signal and she gotten lost on the back-road. He accepted it with a smile, and pulled out her chair for her. 

Some of his guests looked at her with hate, disgusted by her rudeness. Other’s looked at her with mild amusement, as though she was a curiosity at the town fair. Some were pleased she actually showed up, Melissa being one of them. Though feelings towards her were varied, the moment she arrived, they knew there was something special about the woman who sat at the treasured spot at Strand’s right hand and did not get turned away like all the others. And they all saw the look Strand gave her when she arrived. Though he would deny it to his grave, they all agreed that he looked at her like she was the goddamn sun. 

If Strand took up a drinking game where the only rule of the evening was “take a shot every time someone asked him if he and Alex were dating”’, he would bet he would be spending the rest of the holidays in a hospital bed, attached to an IV. Everyone asked him, even the ones who met Alex personally. And time and time and time again, Alex had to break the news and their little gossipy hearts.

“No. Sorry, Dr. Strand and I are not dating.”

Alex always answered. He just nodded in agreement with a wry smile to back her up. But a part of him wished she would be stalled for just long enough for him to intercept and give a reply of his own.

_“Yes, Miss Reagan and I are a couple.”_

And all through the night, he entertained this little fantasy game of his, cultivating it with long gazes, witty remarks , heartfelt compliments, and any other interaction he could claim were flirtatious in some manner. He thought of little jokes they could have as a couple, the touches he could get away with with as her man that would not be acceptable as a friend. When they danced, he imagined pulling her closer to him, giving her sweet and tender kisses as they waltzed across the room with all eyes on them in envy. But he didn’t pull her closer or kiss her, he just watched her beaming face and smiled as the guests whirled around them. When they had a moment to themselves, he fantasized pulling her to one of the empty guest rooms upstairs. Ravishing her neck with kisses and then rushing downstairs before their guests noticed their absence. But he didn’t, they just had small, polite, hushed conversations in the corner before a guest or two dragged them into a larger group discussion about whatever. 

If he had his way, everything about the night would’ve been different. Alex would’ve been in a flowing, champagne colored gown -the best that money could afford- that would brush the floor and gave the appearance she was floating through the human crowd around her. She would always be at his side, his hand on her waist, her hand on his shoulder as they entertained their guests. And she wouldn’t be leaving with the guests for she would have a permanent residence at his house, which led to his favorite part of his play pretend; the fact they would have matching gold rings on their left hand.

All games, however, had to come to an end. Melissa finally departed (she winked at him as she passed him), leaving him and Alex the only people in the house. Her wine was gone and the fire had died, but she still eyed the dying embers that held strong. Strand moved to her side. 

“Did you enjoy yourself Alex?”

She nodded, turning to face him with a small smile. From the dim lighting, he could see the color in her cheeks as a nice rosy glow brought from the warmth and the wine. It was the same shade as her lips. He wanted to kiss her, and he imagined what they would taste like: either the wine, the spices from dinner, or the sugar from dessert.

“Yes I did. Thank you for inviting me.”

Silence enveloped them. He watched her pick at a loose thread on her dress. He had a thousand things he wanted to say and do and he had nothing all at the same time. He reached out and held her free hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Thank you for coming tonight, Alex.” he said softly.

“I just wish I made a better impression on your friends. They probably hate me for being late. I felt cheap among them.” she confessed. And he could tell that it wasn’t brought on by the alcohol. She was telling him the truth. 

He scowled, fighting the urge to storm out of the house, hunt down his guests and force them to apologize  for any ill will directed towards Alex. He restrained himself. Instead he chose to take her empty glass, making sure their fingers touched. 

“To hell with them and what they think Alex. Out of all them, I was glad to see you the most.”

She looked up, color rushed into her cheeks. She hid her grin behind her hand and laughed. “You flatter me Dr. Strand.”

“I only speak the truth Miss Reagan.” he admitted.

She looked him dead in the eye. Her dark eyes were hazy, from wine? Or from some make believe of her own, perhaps? 

“Penny for your thoughts?” he teased. 

Just when she was about to reply, the clock chimed ten times. The sound made them jump. She looked at the old clock sadly, reminding her that her time here was fleeting. 

“As much as I love to stay Richard, I have to go. My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon.”

He nodded in resignation. He led her to the door, exchanged goodbyes and wishes of safe travels and evenings, and watched her little rental car go down the gravel path until it disappeared into he darkness. He retreated to his bedroom upstairs and changed into his sleep clothes. He didn’t go to sleep immediately, instead choosing to thumb through an old text book he saved from his undergraduate years. Psychology, he had to guess. The words did nothing for him except lull him into his final fantasy of the night: that she was beside him in bed, curled up underneath the sheets, and listening to him read with undivided attention. Lost in his thoughts, he reached out to the other side of the bed to hold her hand. All he grasped were the cotton sheets and the cold truth that reality would not meet up with any of his fantasies. 

**Author's Note:**

> So the lovely dr-strand on tumblr requested a "pretend dating" fic, and I felt obligated to write it. Of course I had to put my own twists to it and -surprise surprise- it's not a ray of sunshine and fluffiness. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! If there are any errors, ooc-ness (hey, Pining Strand is fun to write), or have any comments that could help improve me writing, dont be afraid to speak up!


End file.
